


Witchcraft & Wizardry & Voltron

by juniperallura



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hogwarts AU, M/M, Matt Holt - Freeform, Pidge - Freeform, Shiro - Freeform, broganes, hunk - Freeform, katie holt - Freeform, keith - Freeform, klance, lance - Freeform, shallura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:36:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperallura/pseuds/juniperallura
Summary: A Voltron Hogwarts AUSeptember 1st means reunions and trying to figure out which Bertie Botts are vomit flavored.(A mix of general fluff, Shallura, and Klance)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First two chapters are pure fluff, then turns into Shallura

   “Shiro! Allura!” 

Black robes filtered across Platform 9 ¾ to reveal Shiro running a hand through his hair, a dazed expression on his face as Allura chatted emphatically to him. At the sound of their names the two heads, light and dark, snapped up. “Matt!” Allura waved, a wide smile on her face. 

Matt wove through the crowd, hand around Pidge’s wrist to keep her in tow. “Hey guys!” He pulled the two of them into a hug, ruffling Shiro’s hair. “Long time no see,” he winked. 

“Yes, a whole three weeks since we were in London!” Allura laughed.

“How was your summer, Pidge?” Shiro turned to his friend’s sister with a smile, dodging Matt’s attempts to get him into a headlock. 

Pidge smiled, holding her new books to her chest, “It was good! I finally figured out the Hiccoughing Po-”

“-Isn’t she growing up so _fast_?” Matt cut her off, nearly bowling her over with the force of his side-hug. 

Allura giggled, “Leave her alone!”

“You should see Keith, that kid’s a bean stalk-” Shiro smirked, his eyes scanning the platform. 

“We’ll find him on the train,” Allura said, laying a hand on Shiro’s shoulder for a moment before pulling it away; no one missed the red that flared in her cheeks when she met Matt’s raised brows. 

— “You wanna go find the other two?” Keith nodded his head toward the compartment door.

Pidge’s eyes snapped up, her book thumping shut. “ _Yes-_ I can’t listen to these three talk about NEWTS anymore!”

The two made their way down from the front car, slipping past the trolley witch until they saw two familiar figures throwing Bertie Bott’s at each other. After the shuffling of September 1st hugs and high fives, and the ensuing scuffle over Lance’s last box of jelly beans, the gang fell into their usual pattern. 

“So Keith,” Lance raised his brow, lips curled in a gleefully mischievous smile, “How does it feel to know your brother is _Head Boy_? Seems like your year’s gonna be pretty lame now that Shiro’s a _narc_.”

Keith rolled his eyes as the rest of the compartment snickered, flicking what he had determined to be a vomit flavored bean at Lance. Hunk paused in the middle of inspecting an unidentified flavor to add, “Lance, you do realize that _both_ of your team captains are Head Boy and Girl? You’re totally screwed.”

“They’re _what_?” Lance’s mouth dropped, his wand clattering to the floor. 

“You didn’t know?” Pidge asked over Keith’s gratified chuckling, “Allura’s Head Girl. I’d say it was nepotism but we all saw her call a foul on her _own_ team last year-”

“-That was _Hunk’s_ fault for throwing his club!” Lance cried indignantly.

“That was an accident,” Hunk retorted, “You didn’t have to _catch_ it!”

Laughter rang out from the compartment, the train whistle announcing the start of another year as Hogwarts loomed into view.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is jealous. Pidge & Hunk are just waiting for everyone to acknowledge their feelings.

“I heard he learned to disapparate as a _third year_ -”

        “Of course the _Headmaster’s daughter_ …best friend are Head Boy and Girl-”

  “Did you see the _save_ she made last night-”

                    “-So cool!”

                                 “He’s so _cute_ …”

_“I can’t take it anymore!”_ Lance cried, throwing his hands up. His eyes followed the pair of seventh years as they walked through the courtyard, their stupid badges practically _glistening_ in the sunlight as they _floated_ away to go grace someone else with detention. His voice jumped up an octave, joining the hoards of swooning first years that always seemed to follow in the shadows of the Gryffindor all-stars. “ _Shiro_ and _Allura_ are so _great_ and _beautiful_ and I _love_ them, even though they have a huge stick up their ass and take points away from their own House!” Lance crossed his arms with a huff, leaning against a pillar. “I can’t wait til they graduate, then it’ll be _my_ turn!”

Pidge and Hunk exchanged glances from their perch on the cloister wall, muttering, “ _Gryffindors._ ” _  
_

Keith scoffed, attempting to balance his wand on the end of his finger as he leaned against the opposite pillar. “Yeah, me too- then your Quidditch team will be _done_.”

Hunk and Pidge met eyes again. “ _Slytherins._ ”

Lance ignored the peanut gallery, his face reddening. “Oh yeah, Keith? You know what Slytherin’s team will be?” He jabbed a finger toward Keith’s chest, “ _Still rubbish!_ ”

“Oh really?” Keith took the bait, pushing himself off the wall and closer to Lance’s face. “Well at least I _catch_ the Snitch- you look like you’re chasing a Cornish pixie!”

What came next was a classic series of alternating _“Oh yeah?”_ followed by a forceful suggestion to “take it to the pitch.” Pidge and Hunk had the script memorized, a little tired of the dialogue by the third performance that month.

Hunk sighed, a sly smile pulling at his face as he surveyed the courtyard. “When are those kids gonna get together, right?”

Pidge looked up from her parchment, her eyes drifting first to Shiro and Allura, whose shy laughter was drifting over from the opposite hall, and then to Keith and Lance, whose retreating necks were red as they alternated shoving each other down the hall. “ _Which ones?_ ”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance has a hunch about Shiro and Allura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of Shallura drabbles through Lance's eyes

The sky was clear, it’s bright blue accented by the autumn colors that lined the street and crunched underfoot. A slight breeze heralded the new school year, it’s novelty only just beginning to wear, calling the young witches and wizards to enjoy the season before the bone-chilling wind of winter replaced it’s gentle coolness. All in all, a perfect weekend for Hogsmeade.

Hunk, Pidge, and Lance met up first, impatiently talking World Cup stats until Keith surfaced from the Slytherin dungeon. The group followed the mass exodus from the Castle, everyone in high spirits as a month’s worth of pent-up energy (Quidditch season having yet to start) was collectively expelled.

The enchanting power of Hogsmeade’s main street never got old. Everyone’s attention was quickly pulled in different directions; including Lance, whose gaze was caught by a familiar pair slipping through the crowd. Even badge-less and out of their usual black robes, Lance could spot Allura’s shining mane from a mile away. She and Shiro were walking oddly close to each other, making a beeline toward a storefront covered in bows and painted a sickeningly sweet pink.

“What the hell-” Lance muttered, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to squint. “Guys! _Guys!_ ” he called, gesturing to his friends. They stopped a few feet ahead of him, but didn’t bother retracing their steps. “Do you see this?” Lance pointed across the street, his eyes bulging as the full weight of his realization dawned on him, “ _Do you see where they’re going?_ ”

“Who?” Pidge called, scanning the other side of the street. 

“ _Shiro and Allura,_ ” Lance hissed, furiously beckoning to them. 

Hunk strolled over to Lance’s side. “So? What’s wrong?”

Lance’s mouth hung open, “They’re going to Madam Puddifoot’s!”

The tingling of bell wafted across the street, and the pair were gone. Hunk snorted. “They’re going _where_?”

“ _Madam Puddifoot’s!_ ” Lance cried, throwing up his hands. 

A smirk curled over Keith’s face. “Madam who?”

 “- _Puddifoot!_ ” Lance huffed at the chores of giggles that rose from his friends, coupled with Pidge’s pleas for him to _never_ say that again. “Keith, how can you not care about this? He’s your _brother_!”

Keith shrugged, “I don’t care what he does- and I don’t even see them.” He started to turn away, gesturing over his shoulder, “C’mon Lance, don’t you want to get to Spintwitches’ to see the new Nimbus?”

“Oo, let’s go!” Hunk clapped a hand on Lance’s shoulder before moving down the street, “Shay’s birthday is next week, I want to get her some new Beater’s gloves-”

“-Blowing all your money on _Shay_ , huh, Hunk?”

        “- _Shut up_ -”

Lance stood still for a second, staring at the tea shop sign as his friend’s voices got further away.

“Hey, wait up-!”

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** |

“Good luck out there, Pidge,” Lance smiled, holding a hand out to his fellow Seeker. 

“You too,” Pidge adjusted her glasses, slapping her hand against Lance’s and giving it a quick squeeze, “See you on the pitch!”

The two parted ways at the pitch entrance, Lance making his way toward the Gryffindor locker room. 

First match of the semi-finals. Time to get his head in the game. 

Forget the Charms essay that was already two days late; forget that he and Keith weren’t speaking to each other for who even remembers what reason; forget that he almost lost his arm in disapparation practice the other night. _This_ was what he was good at; although, maybe if he showed up to Charms as early as he showed up to matches his grades would be better.

Lance shook his head as he pushed through the door marked **Gryffindor** , chiding himself. Upon entering, he was met with two wide-eye stares.

Shiro and Allura were sitting on the center bench, practically in each other’s _laps_. Lance swore he saw hands unclasping, a palm _zoom_ away from a lap. If their position wasn’t incriminated enough, both of the captain’s faces were red and _guilty as hell_.

Before Lance could even muster a word, Allura produced a piece of parchment from out of nowhere. “-Ahem, hello, Lance-” Allura flashed a smile, a little too wide to be natural, “Shiro and I were just going over our offensive tactics for the match-”

Shiro nodded, his eyes shifting between Allura and Lance, “Yep, talking strategy-” he cleared his throat “-You know those Ravenclaws, and their…” He and Allura shared a panicked glance.

Lance raised a brow, “-Defense?” He surveyed their emphatic nods with narrowed eyes. Why did _he_ feel like the suspicious parent? Wasn’t that _their_ job?

Before he could say anything else, the other Gryffindor Chasers walked in, immediately pulling Shiro into their conversation.

— “I can’t believe you don’t believe me!” Lance stabbed at his sausage, huffing at the damp lock of hair that kept falling into his face.

“It’s not that we don’t believe you…” Pidge propped her chin in her hand, still exhausted from the match, “But I mean, Shiro and Allura? If anyone’s going to _actually_ be going over Quidditch tactics, it’s them.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, man,” Hunk added, anxiously eyeing Lance’s punctured lunch, “Trust me, I’ve been _waiting_ for it to happen, but-”

Keith reached over to grab a plum cake from the newly refreshed tray. “I don’t know about Allura, but I _live_ with Shiro and I didn’t notice anything off this summer.”

A laugh rang out from the other side of the Great Hall, where Shiro, Matt, and Allura were sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table. The younger counterparts all turned, each one trying to calculate from their place at the Hufflepuff table just how close the pair in question were sitting. Matt saw them and stretched out his arm in a sweeping wave, disturbing some stray post owls as he called, “ _Hey Pidge! Great flying today- you’ll get ‘em next time!_ ”

Lance slumped against the table with a sigh. Keith frowned, setting down his dessert. “Hey, you never know,” he smiled mischievously, nudging Lance’s elbow, “Maybe it’s all a cover for Shiro and _Matt_.” The image was enough to get a laugh out of Lance, who decided it was best to change the subject.

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** |

Winter had finally set in at Hogwarts. An evil month, really; besides Christmas, nothing good happened in winter. Sure, the Castle was beautiful, frosted in a fresh layer of snow, but Lance was _freezing_. Walking through the cloister hallway, he swore he could feel his bone marrow turning to ice. (No exaggeration.)

He huffed— Literally, because he forgot gloves and his warm breath was the only thing saving his poor fingers. Metaphorically, because Keith had borrowed his scarf and it turned out he looked _really good_ in red; so now, there he was, scarf-less and inexplicably angry. His train of thought wandered off in that direction, and he nearly smacked into the towering figure of Headmaster Alfor as they both rounded a corner. “-Ah! Sorry, Headmaster, my bad,” Lance grimaced.

The bemused expression on Alfor’s face smoothed into a smile as he chuckled, “Not to worry! I won’t take any points from Gryffindor- _unless it happens again_.” With a wink he swept away, leaving Lance to wonder where Allura got the stick that was usually up her ass.  _Speaking_ of which-

Lance dodged back behind the wall. She was leaning against a pillar, arms folded and lips pulled into a frown. Peeking out, Lance could see Shiro’s profile as he sat on the low courtyard wall, dragging a hand down his face.

Shiro grumbled something. Allura glanced around, responding in a low voice. “-Of course he likes you…”

Lance raised a brow. Those two had been friends since they were like… _eleven_. Childhood friendships didn’t come with Dad Drama- something was up. 

_Why was he the only one seeing these things?_

Allura put her hand on Shiro’s shoulder. There was a prolonged gaze. This was getting too personal.

Lance retreated down the hall, for once glad that the snow was there to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** | 

Finally, spring had freed the grounds from its wintertime prison. A fragrant breeze stirred the air, enticingly rippling the surface of the Great Lake. The gang wound their way back to the Castle after a fun afternoon spent stretched out on its banks, snacking on stolen food from the Great Hall and discovering that (apparently) Keith had a deeper relationship with the Giant Squid than anyone had supposed.

They picked up Matt as a straggler on his way back from the Quidditch pitch, and he was regaling them all with his own wild Giant Squid stories (all false, according to Pidge) as they stepped through the Fat Lady’s doorway. Evidently everyone else had also been drawn outdoors, and the couches and cushions of the common room sat deserted except-

“Oh. My. God.”

Who else was leaning against the wall but Head Boy and Head Girl, Co-Captain and Co-Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, Mr. and Mrs. Professionalism and Responsibility, Star Student and the Headmaster’s Daughter. Allura’s back was to the wall, Shiro’s hand claiming the space above her shoulder; her hands were on his chin, in his hair, on his chest; in the weeks to come Lance would _swear_ he saw tongue.

Matt looked like he had been hit by a bus. Pidge and Keith looked like they were going to barf. Hunk looked like a proud grandmother.

A hundred words came to Lance’s mind- _irresponsible, bad example, gross, sneaky, reckless_ \- but all that came out was, “ ** _Ha!_** ”

As if they were struck by lightening, Shiro and Allura leaped away from each other. Their faces turned a violent shade of crimson, their eyes trying to look at everybody and nobody at the same time. A mix of sputtering “I- we weren’t- you-” joined Lance’s triumphant cackling. Finally, Shiro let out a resigned, “Fuck.”

Matt staggered over to the couch, hand over his heart like a woman in need of her smelling salts. “Please tell me you guys ate some bad Nettleroot and this is some weird drug-fueled hallucinogenic thing?”

Allura glanced at Shiro, wringing her hands. After a second she forced out the words, “No, it’s- it’s been going on for awhile.”

Matt shut his eyes. “How long?”

Shiro swallowed. “…Nine-ish months.”

“Takashi. Shirogane.” Matt lurched forward, his eyes wide. “ _And you didn’t tell me?_ ”

“We’re so sorry, Matt!” Allura grabbed Shiro’s hand, a move that only seemed to cause Matt physical pain. “It just happened over the summer, and we didn’t know if it would work out-”

“-And we didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and we’re both captains, and then I got Head Boy-”

An upheld hand cut off Shiro. “Tell me exactly when. And where.”

Shiro sighed. “The first time we were in London, in July.” He and Allura glanced at each other, unable to keep from smiling. “That night with the firewhiskey, at your aunt’s…you passed out-”

“Did you two…in my _aunt’s_ home- while I was _in the room!?_ ”

“ _No!_ ” They cried emphatically, Allura adding, “Good Lord!”

Matt slumped back against the couch, waving his hand dismissively. “Well, I’ve seen this coming for years. I still can’t believe you hid this from me, but- you have my blessing.”

Allura’s face dropped into an incredulous glare, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but Shiro cut in with a pointed look at his girlfriend, “Thank you, Matt.”

“Wait, wait, _wait!_ ” Lance stepped in, arms crossed indignantly, “I think we all need to take a minute and acknowledge the fact that I told _you,_ and _you,_ and _you!_ I was right _all along!_ ” A victorious finger was jabbed into the faces of Pidge, Hunk, and Keith successively.

Keith smacked away the hand. “Put it in a Howler.”

“Maybe I will, Keith, maybe I will!” Lance turned on his heel, striding toward the portrait opening as if his next task was announcing the News to all of Hogwarts. “ _And give me back my scarf!_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to Chapter 3  
> Summer Nights + Firewhiskey

Everyone was able to relax under the setting sun. The heat slipped into something gentler, the city no longer baking under glaring rays; and of course, in the dwindling light escaping chocolate frogs and the apparition of three teenagers was easier to hide.

As the kids made their way into the house– a compact brick structure with a pleasant back garden, tucked in a quiet (aka witchy) neighborhood just outside London– a voice wafted from the den. “Is that you, Matt? How did it go?” 

“Yes, Aunt Susan,” Matt called, pausing as he mounted the staircase with Shiro and Allura in tow, “Potage’s was closed, so no cauldron.” 

They made their way up the staircase, catching the eyes of the Holt family portraits that chatted with one another over the banister. While the exterior of the home looked to be about one story and an attic, the interior stairs stretched on for three floors, finally depositing them at the threshold of the guest bedroom Shiro and Matt were sharing for the week. 

Allura sat with a huff on the edge of Shiro’s bed, all three of them chuckling when they realized how winded they were. “Remind me to make the team run stairs once Quidditch season starts,” she said, regaining her breath. 

Shiro groaned in half-serious protest, opting to lean against Matt’s bed rather than join Allura. “As co-captain, I might have to fight you on that.”

“- _What’re you climbing stairs for? Are you wizards or aren’t ya?”_

A collective sigh rose from the group when the shrill voice sounded from above the lopsided dresser. Matt clambered onto his bed, reaching over toward the old man draped in clashing orange and purple that knocked around in his golden frame. “Be quiet, you _bonkers_ old man!” Matt chided as he remorselessly flipped the portrait to face the wall.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a _nuisance_ ,” Allura said, warily eyeing the back of the frame which, after a few seconds of muffled protests, had gone silent.

“Really?” Shiro asked with a raised brow, glancing pointedly at Matt. His and Allura’s giggles prompted protests from Matt, to which Shiro responded, “I _know_ you gave him the idea to steal the musket from that one- he was trying to shoot the windows out this morning!” He nodded toward the painting of a quaint cottage (with a few holes in its door) that hung over the radiator.

“Whatever,” Matt waved away their smirks, “Enough grandpa talk. Time for the _fun_ part of the day-”

Allura and Shiro exchanged looks as Matt jumped down from the bed to start rummaging in his dresser; with him, ‘fun’ could mean… _anything_. 

With a triumphant cry, Matt pulled a bottle of clear liquid out from his sock drawer, its label shimmering with bursting fireworks. He held it aloft like the spoils of war, grinning expectantly at his friends. 

“ _Firewhiskey?_ ” Allura asked, eyebrows raised but a smile tugging at her lips, “How did you manage that?”

“My uncle— they don’t really care what I do here if Pidgey’s not around.”

Allura looked over at Shiro, gauging his reaction. He sat with his arms folded over his chest, an odd mix of intrigue and trepidation on his face. His eyes fixated on the bottle that Matt was uncapping. The light feeling in his chest reminded him that it was summer, he was with his friends, he could (and should!) have fun; the twisting feeling in his stomach reminded him that he had a mother who would not react well (to say the least) to his getting hammered in the Holt’s guest bedroom.

“-What do you say, Shiro?” She gestured toward the glasses Matt had procured with a smile. Meeting her gaze, Shiro felt the knot start to untie itself. What could one drink hurt?

— “ _Balfour Blane!_ It’s Blane!” 

Matt threw his hands up, conceding to whatever rules they had concocted around a stack of chocolate frog trading cards. He took a swig from the bottle- glasses having been abandoned long ago- and passed it to Shiro. His eyes wavering, Matt leaned against the face of the dresser, struggling to keep himself upright. “Guys, it’s- I’m so…late…”

Allura seemed to find the whole thing hilarious, keeping up a steady stream of giggles while Shiro coaxed the rest of a glass of water into Matt. “Do you think we should- get him in bed?” Shiro asked, suppressing a hiccup. 

“Don’t you dare,” Matt mumbled, curling up on the rug, “I’m so comfy-” Snickering, the other two tucked a blanket around him, wedging a pillow under his head. The second Allura’s hand left his shoulder, his breath became deep and rhythmic. Matt Holt: just one in a long line of champion _lightweights_.

Although, as he was beginning to realize, Shiro wasn’t holding up so stoically. A lazy smile spread over his face and his train of thought was much fuzzier than it was an hour ago. His eyes drifted over to Allura, who was leaning toward him with an expectant look. Shiro couldn’t believe she wore her hair down that day. It was so hot. She had so much hair. Flowing, luminous hair. 

She had asked him a question.

“-What?” He asked, blinking back into focus.

Allura smirked, sitting back against the bed. “Wow. You, Shiro, are _drunk_.”

“Pshh-” He waved the words away, but still couldn’t stop smiling as she blinked at him. “Am not- tipsy, maybe-”

“Lair!” She cried, throwing her finger toward him, “Your face is positively crimson! You can’t hide things from me, Shiro, you can’t-”

Shiro raised a hand to his cheek, which was indeed warmer than the rest of his face. “It’s from the sun,” he insisted, not willing to give in, “Besides, you’re _positively_ drunk, too!”

Allura dissolved into giggles, unable to keep up a serious charade. She suddenly slid onto the floor, twisting to put her feet up on Shiro’s bed. The crown of her head almost touched his knee, her hair spilling onto his lap. “Well I had more than you two, that’s for sure. I’m no lightweight.” She grinned up at him.

“I’m sure the other prefects will love to hear that,” he snorted. 

She gasped, sitting up again as quickly as she had laid down. “Prefects!” Her hand reached out to grab Shiro’s arm. “I’m Head Girl! You’re Head Boy! I almost forgot!”

She dissolved into laughter again. Shiro thought her hand print would burn into his arm; thankfully, his face was already red enough to hide his shameful blush. His thoughts were starting to bleed into one another again. Too many boundaries were blurring. Getting drunk with Matt was easy, there was nothing to hide; but now that it was just the two of them, something in his gut that he couldn’t quite name was getting harder to push down. Her voice refocused him.

“-Do you want to take a walk?” 

Trying to not fall down three flights of stairs in the dark was a sobering process, but eventually they made it to the first floor with no injuries and having woken only a few portraits. Knowing the house far less than he, Allura held onto Shiro’s arm somewhere around the elbow, letting him lead her toward the back door. The occasional ray of light, filtering in from the street, passed over his face. Allura always wondered what he was thinking, all those times his eyes flitted away just as their gazes met. 

The back door creaked shut behind them. Twinkling lights hid themselves among the vines that crawled up the brick walls of the yard; the night breeze was still warm, stirring the umbrella flower’s sweet scent through the garden. Allura’s eyes drifted upward, catching the stars that blinked between the arching tree boughs. 

Suddenly her foot caught and the stars started to spin. A strong grip grabbed her arm, a firm hand laid on her waist- her shoulder hit against Shiro’s chest. As soon as she was steadied Shiro pulled his hands away, tucking them into his pockets. “Maybe we should sit down,” he said, a smile flickering over his face.

They carefully made their way to a wooden bench, dropping onto it with a sigh. After a brief moment of quiet Shiro chuckled, shaking his head. “I need to drink some water.”

Allura laughed, closing her eyes as the summer wind started to clear her head. “Isn’t this what we used to make fun of?”

“Hm?” Shiro hummed, brow raised.

“When we were second years, y’know,” Allura smiled, “And we made fun of all the drunk seventh years in the common room?”

Shiro’s laugh echoed through the garden. “That was a _long_ time ago. Although, I did always figure Matt would be the one passing out.”

Allura sighed, shifting to lean against Shiro’s arm. “I used to think he hated me.” At his inquisitive look she continued, “I mean, I don’t think he does _now._ But you two had been friends even _before_ Hogwarts, and he and I didn’t have much in common at the beginning— I mean, _we_ only became friends because we got someone detention!”

“Okay, but Mitch Fitzgerald was lighting things on _fire_ , he deserved it,” Shiro chuckled. “And besides, even if Matt hated you a _little_ back then… he doesn’t now- and I never did.”

Shiro met her glance with a smile, finally holding her eyes; suddenly Allura felt very conscious of the warmth radiating from his arm. As much as she wanted to blame the alcohol, she didn’t think it was the firewhiskey that churned in her stomach. 

“I can’t believe this is our last year.” Shiro shifted, as if responding to her quickening pulse. He sighed as his eyes wandered to the sky. “I remember our first year, how it seemed like we would be in school forever. But this time next year we’ll be getting ready to go to the _Ministry_.”

He glanced back down at her. 

There was that feeling again, the tightness in her chest that she had only just begun to acknowledge when it kept her up at night, or pulled at her focus during the day.  And there was Shiro, his eyes looking toward the future while hers swept over the sharp jaw and stubble, so different from the round face she had first encountered in Charms class. The breeze pulled at her sleeve.

“Shiro-” She didn’t want the words to come out, but like some horrible emotional acid reflux she couldn’t seem to stop them. 

Shiro turned to face her, his brow knitted. He didn’t like it when he couldn’t read her face. The breeze stirred the garden again, but this time it brought an odd feeling with it. 

Her hands clasped and unclasped on her lap. “There’s just- something I want to say. I don’t really know how- or what- but-”

“What is it?” Shiro asked the question hesitantly. The blood started to drain from his face as his mind raced to all those things he had never let himself think about for too long.

Allura swallowed. She was doing this. _She was doing this_. “You and Matt are my _best friends_. I feel like I’ve known you guys my whole life. And I think of Matt like a brother-” Her heart started to race, her face heating up like she wasn’t a _Gryffindor_ , dammit! She forced herself to meet Shiro’s eyes. The draft rustled those locks of dark hair that always fell over his forehead. “But I realized recently that… I don’t think of you like that.”

All the color came rushing back to Shiro’s face at once. He was afraid he was mishearing every word that floated out of her mouth, afraid he was misreading the look in her shining eyes, the meaning of the silver tress that was being twisted between her fingers. The feeling that he had kept so carefully concealed was bursting in his chest. He couldn’t answer.

So, she continued. “You’ve always been there for me, and looked out for me, and you just… _get_ me, when no one else does.” She smiled, hesitantly. “And I know I’m probably making this weird, and awkward, and ruining everything we’ve had-” She stopped to take a sharp breath, wishing Shiro would for _once_ give her _something_ instead of that stoic expression. “-But, like you said, it’s our last year. Our last summer. And I don’t want to hide anything from you.” Good Lord, she was going to vomit. “I… _like_ you Shiro. Not like a brother, and- more than a friend.” 

She couldn’t look at him. She was going to cry. Or explode. Or die. Or all three.

Shiro would be lying if he said it wasn’t costing him a lot of effort not to pass out. He sat very still, worried that if he moved in the slightest he would wake up on the floor of the Holt’s guest bedroom, having dreamt it all. 

“Allura-” It took him longer to gather his courage. This was why _she_ always won the House the most points. “I’m not good at this- I-” 

As high as her feelings rose when her name came from his lips, she felt her chest start to collapse when he kept talking. She wanted to scream. _Just say it!_ Put her out of her misery-

“I know sometimes I’m too cautious. But, you’re one of the most important people in my life. Without you, I’d be…” Shiro laughed, if only to break the tension that was sitting on his chest like an anvil, “I don’t know, lost forever with Matt in the Forbidden Forest. And I think I’ve known how I feel for awhile, but once we both got captain, and then prefect, and then Head Boy and Girl- I didn’t want to risk it.” He met her eyes. Deep breath, Takashi. “Allura, I’ve had a ridiculous, stupid crush on you since _day one_ but the last thing I wanted was to freak you out and lose what we had.”

The breeze came again, but they didn’t feel it. Neither of them could help the grins that stretched across their faces. Shiro’s hand dared to rest over Allura’s. She ducked her head, trying in vain to hide the dusky blush that colored her cheeks. All she could say was, “Are we drunker than I thought?”

“Probably,” Shiro answered softly.

They leaned slowly toward each other, finally looking into each other’s eyes and seeing how everything had changed between them in the last seven years. Their foreheads met first, sighs of contentment rising as warm skin met warm skin. And then, Allura felt a gentle hand on her chin. She reached across, daydreams fulfilling their prophesies as she laid her hand on his chest. Under a full moon, wrapped in warm summer night, their lips met; softly, hesitantly, knowing that they were crossing a bridge into unknown territory.

It wouldn’t hit them until the next day, when Allura grabbed Shiro’s pinky while Matt’s hungover back was turned, that they had a huge hurtle in front of them— _they had to tell Matt._


	5. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Allura's first meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prequel, previously posted as a separate fic

_“Partner up!”_

    Allura sighed.

Partner up. It was a terrible phrase. She glanced around the classroom, biting her lip; her gaze met a mix of averted eyes and blatant glares. 

Through the scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet, she distinctly heard Mitch Fitzgerald say from behind her, “You think she’ll get us all _expelled_ if no one works with her?” Her cheeks flushed with hot embarrassment at the chorus of snickers. She didn’t turn around to face his smirk. 

 _This is the worst part_ , she steeled herself, _you just have to wait until everyone is paired up- there’s an even number of students today, someone’ll have to suck it up_. 

She kept her eyes on her parchment, not wanting to meet the uncomfortable pity in the Professor’s eyes. No one knew what to do with the Headmaster’s unpopular daughter. Some well-intentioned professors tried to help, calling for someone in the class to step forward and work with her; but as it happened, singling out the teacher’s pet only fed fodder to the flames. _Go figure_.

It seemed like everyone was moving extra slow that day, trying to draw out her torturous wait. It was moments like that when Allura strongly entertained the idea of transferring to Beauxbatons; sure, she’d have to pick up French and learn those creepy synchronized dances, but there at least people wouldn’t be _afraid_ of talking to her. Who knew, maybe Beauxbatons was _full_ of busy-body know-it-all’s and she’d be the most popular girl in school! 

But none of that really mattered, and for now she was thoroughly stuck at Hogwarts, where nobody saw her for anything but the Headmaster’s daughter and a walking detention hazard.

  A tap on the shoulder pulled her from her reverie. 

     “-Do you have a partner?”

Allura’s head snapped up to find a pair of inquisitive dark eyes looking at her. At _her_? She looked over her shoulder, wondering if the question was meant for someone else; but when she looked back, the patient gaze was still trained on her. The eyes belonged to a boy, one with a kind face, a messy sprout of black hair and a warm, genuine smile. Coincidentally, her starched collar became suddenly uncomfortable and a different type of heat crept into her cheeks. 

Eventually she opened her mouth to answer, “Um, no.”

The boy sat down next to her, pointing to the red badge on his chest. “Don’t pay attention to Mitch, he’s just a Slytherin. Us Gryffindors have to stick together, right?”

Allura nodded, thunderstruck. 

“I’m Shiro, by the way.” He smiled again.

The name brought back a vague memory to Allura— last year, at the Sorting ceremony. Takashi Shirogane; the Sorting Hat had barely brushed the crown of his head before roaring, “ _ **Gryffindor!** ” _Not that hers had taken much longer, but still- Allura had been a bit jealous. 

“I’m Allura.” She stuck out her hand, having recovered some of her confidence in light of his welcoming countenance. Had she recovered _all_ of it, she would have honed in on the light tinge of pink that colored his cheeks as he clasped her hand.

The rest of class would have passed in frustration, Allura only being able to grow some ice on the ends of Shiro’s hair with her Freezing Charm, but she found him to be pleasant company. It turned out Shiro was just as motivated a student, and by the end of class she decided they would make a great study group.

As if reading her mind, Shiro turned to her in the middle of packing his bag to say, “I have Potions next so I have to go, but if you want we could practice Charms together this weekend.” 

Allura mirrored his smile, nodding eagerly. “Yes! I can find you in the Common Room.” 

The two new friends parted with a wave in the hallway, and Allura couldn’t help but grin as she made her way to the library. There was a spring in her step as she flounced by her classmates (who were wondering when Shirogane turned out to be such a narc,) secure in the knowledge that both Mitch Fitzgerald _and_ Beauxbatons could suck a booger flavored Bertie Bott’s. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith's complicated relationship reaches a boiling point  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally in a separate post, but I'm in the process of consolidating my fics

“You guys _can’t_ be serious-” Lance’s face twisted with a mixture of incredulous nerves. He perched at the edge of the couch, hands gesturing wildly as his eyes alternated between narrowed in suspicion and bulging in indignation. “ _Keith_. My _worst enemy_ — andeven worse, a _Slytherin!_ ”

Pidge and Hunk exchanged flat glances. Pidge closed her book, covering the face of a carved badger as she set it down on the wooden table. “C’mon, Lance, your _worst_ enemy? You two are together all the time.” She adjusted her glasses, sitting back against the plush low chair with a shrug, “It’s pretty obvious, even to me.”

Lance turned to Hunk for support, but Hunk held up his hands in defense. “Look, we’re not saying you’re in _love_ with the guy-” He tapped his chin, looking into the fire as he tried to choose his words carefully, “You guys just have… chemistry. And sure, he’s a Slytherin, but they’re not _all_ bad— Keith’s a cool guy.”

“Keith’s _emo!_ ” Lance cried, laying back against the couch as his mind raced to justify the heat that rushed to his face at the thought of him _liking_  Keith. He reached up, poking the end of a spiral fern that draped down from its hanging copper pot. “Rubbish. We have nothing in common! We fight all the time! He’s got a _mullet_ —I can’t like a guy with a _mullet.”_

The other two suspected that the last part was more to himself than anyone else. They left him to stew and returned to their homework, agreeing it leave it where it lay.

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** | 

“-Lance!”

Lance stopped before the entrance to the Great Hall as a voice echoed down from the stairs. He saw the glint of a green tie, and gestured at the boy he had been walking with, a friend from Transfiguration, to go ahead of him.

Keith jogged over to meet him, a bright smile lighting up his features. “Hey! You weren’t in Potions yesterday, I have your essay-” He handed Lance the folded piece of parchment. Something in Lance’s face, the unfocused eyes and the pink tinge in his cheeks, prompted Keith to reach out, laying his hand on Lance’s shoulder with knitted brows. “Pidge said you were sick, are you okay?”

It took Lance a second to respond. Keith didn’t smile very often, but when he did it radiated a striking warmth; and his eyelashes were so _long_ \- had he never noticed them before? The conversation with Pidge and Hunk flashed before Lance’s eyes. A violent, panicked heat rushed to his cheeks. He stiffened under Keith’s touch, the skin under his hand burning. He immediately looked away, muttering a quick, “Yeah, I’m fine-”

Keith blinked in surprise. He followed what he thought was Lance’s gaze over to a red tie and blond undercut that waved at them from the entryway to the Great Hall; suddenly, something tight and dark knotted itself in his stomach. He quickly withdrew his hand from Lance’s shoulder. “Oh, sorry,” he pressed his lips together tightly, clearing his throat, “I guess I’ll see you in class.”

Lance knitted his brows, ice creeping into his countenance as he met Keith’s cold gaze. _See?_ He told himself, _emo._ He nodded and they parted without a word, each crossing his arms over the growing storm in his chest.

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** | 

Even for a Quidditch Championship night, it was a miracle that the Gryffindor Common Room didn’t get raided by the Curfew Police (aka Head Boy, Head Girl, and some overzealous professor). Although, maybe it wasn’t _so_ miraculous considering Shiro and Allura were also co-captains of the winning team— and could be easily spotted snogging among the party-goers. Regardless, the cacophony of music and overlapping chatter, punctuated by the occasional victorious chant, bled into the hallway and it was clear that there was more than Butterbeer sloshing around in the cups that littered the room.

Students from every house packed into the room— Keith was a shoo-in, on account of Shiro, Pidge, as someone else’s plus-one, had been coaxed into socializing, and Hunk was such a sweetheart that it didn’t seem to matter that he had tried his hardest to knock out every one of the Gryffindor players just a few hours ago on the pitch. All in all, it had the makings of an epic night; except—

Lance took another swig from his drink, keeping his arms crossed as his eyes swept across the room. For a Seeker who had just clinched the Quidditch Cup for his house, he was in an awfully bad mood. He wasn’t sure why he was continually pricked with annoyance, or why his gaze wouldn’t stop being drawn to the fireplace. It definitely had nothing to do with a certain black mullet leaning against the wall across from a certain Gryffindor Chaser named Max. Lance hadn’t even _considered_ how close they were standing, or how he could hear Keith’s laugh echoing over the rest of the party. Never. Even. Thought. Of. It.

Pidge and Hunk came sidling over from his peripherals, having just escaped Matt’s drunkenly rapturous _Pidge-I’m-so-proud-of-you-my-beautiful-baby-sister_ clutches. “Lance!” Hunk beamed at him, clapping him on the shoulder, “Why all the lurking? It’s your celebration, man, what’s up?”

Lance rolled his eyes, blowing a dismissive breath through his teeth. “Lurking? Why would I be lurking? I’m not even lurking-”

Pidge raised her eyebrows. “Wow.”

Hunk glanced in the direction Lance was still glowering toward. “ _Ah-_ ” he couldn’t help a smirk as the realization dawned on him, “C’mon man, have some fun! Let’s dance, the music’s good!”

Pidge chimed in, “Yeah, _I’ll_ even dance with you guys- and we can crash into whatever’s happening with _those_ two.” She nodded toward Shiro and Allura.

A slow smile spread of Lance’s face. “Okay,” he acquiesced, “ _Only_ because I love watching you try to dance, Pidge-”

She let the dig slide, she and Hunk pulling him toward the messy cluster in the middle of the room with a rousing cry of, “ _Gryffindor!_ ” 

Keith looked up in time to see them moving into the crowd. “Hey!” he called, waving at Lance. He moved toward them, Max following behind him with a smile. 

A hot feeling rose again in Lance’s stomach; he was pretty sure it _wasn’t_ the Firewhiskey. With a laugh that sounded strange even to him, he yelled over the music, “Sorry Keith, we’re having _fun-_ ” 

For the rest of the night Lance tried to throw himself into the celebration, but somehow it was easier said than done. Any other night he’d be _basking_ in the toasts and chants and claps on the back, but he just couldn’t stop his eyes from sliding over to the drink table, where a slender figure was still leaning against the goddamn wall. 

Eventually the party had thinned out and quieted enough that Lance could find himself sitting on a loveseat, facing a Ravenclaw girl who had been talking about how great the match was for who even knew how long. She was cute, and was sitting very close to him, and kept reaching out to touch his arm. Lance’s eyes slid away from hers. Keith was across the room, chatting with Shiro and Matt. And for whatever reason, his shadow had morphed into the spitting image of _Max_. Lance turned his gaze back to the girl- _Ada_ , he was pretty sure. Maybe Adele. He smiled, leaning a little closer to her. “Well, y’know I could’ve taken the Snitch about twenty minutes earlier, if _someone_ hadn’t been so clumsy with the Quaffle…”

His eyes flickered back to the far end of the Common Room. Keith was looking at him. His brows were knit. Ada touched Lance’s arm again. “I’m sure you could’ve,” she giggled. Lance could still feel Keith’s eyes on him. He leaned in, and their lips met. 

His hands found her waist and she leaned into him, every touch sticky with Firewhiskey. After a few minutes they pulled apart, breathless. “I should probably go home,” she giggled. 

Lance nodded, planting a few more kisses on her jaw as she assured him she’d be safe getting back on her own. She gave him a parting wave as she hopped out the painting door, and Lance sat back with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“’Night, Keith-” Lance turned as Shiro’s voice echoed through the now nearly empty room. He caught Keith’s glance as he walked by the sitting area on his way out; his face was cold. Lance glanced back— Max was nowhere to be found.

Pidge and Hunk followed close behind, strange expressions on their faces as they congratulated Lance again and wished him goodnight. The smirk faded slowly from his face. The churning feeling returned to his stomach, this time accompanied by a tight feeling in his chest. Suddenly angrier than he had been earlier in the night, he pushed off the couch and strode toward his dormitory, swatting away Allura’s hand when she reached out to say goodnight to him. 

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** |

A couple weeks passed without a word between Keith and Lance; of course, had anyone asked them about it, they’d claim there was _absolutely nothing_ going on. Shiro and Allura tried to, once, but Lance saw it coming a mile away after he spotted Shiro in some deep-looking conversation with Keith and Allura suddenly started pulling her ‘older sister’ routine on him. Keith was equally slippery when it came to Hunk and Pidge’s attempts to pin him down. This was just what friends/nemeses did, right?

Eventually, the silence of their non-fight was broken when Keith arrived late to Potions class and the only open seat was next to a familiar back. He dropped into the chair, briefly meeting Lance’s cool glance. His stomach dropped but his chest fluttered, all of him torn between dread and excitement.

Lance’s eyes bore into his parchment. It had been awhile since he and Keith were less than a few feet apart. Lance hadn’t realized how familiar his scent had been — and that he’d never seen his hair pulled into that little ponytail. Lance tugged at the collar of his robes, the weight of their silence now pressing down on him. The first thing that came out of his mouth dripped with sarcasm. “ _Nice ponytail_.”

Keith’s eyes flashed to him. He couldn’t name all of the things that bubbled up in his chest. He cleared his throat, answering curtly, “I’m going to the pitch after class.”

Lance rolled his eyes and scoffed; the sound seemed to startled Keith, who jumped a little in his chair. Lance raised a brow and reached down to open his messenger bag, revealing the red and gold of his Quidditch uniform. His tone came out like a challenge, “I’m running drills.”

“Good thing there’s room for both of us.” Keith’s lips were pressed tightly together.

They turned, red faced, to the front of the class as the professor began lecturing. 

Somehow, they managed to avoid walking to the Quidditch Pitch together but met in the center of the field, two spots of red and green in the silver mist that clung to the grounds. Keith unfurled his fingers to reveal the Snitch, its delicate wings unfolding and beating fitfully against his grip. He raised a brow at Lance. “Ready?”

Lance mounted his broom with a nod. Keith released the Snitch and the two of them shot after it into the fog. 

The low visibility made it imperative for them to keep their eyes trained on the Snitch, but neither could help glancing over at the other as they sped around the pitch. They lost each other in the mist when the golden ball made a sharp turn, but practically collided when they recovered its track. Lance turned to glare at Keith, urging his broom forward as he stretched out his arm. Keith strained to inch in front of Lance, returning his look and throwing out his own hand. They jostled each other’s shoulders as they raced side by side through the air. Lance leaned just slightly to the left, nudging Keith at the elbow. Keith responded with more force, knocking into Lance’s broom. The Snitch took them into a dive, and soon they were skimming the ground, veering into one another with venomous glares. 

Lance stopped short as the Snitch flitted up into the fog and out of view. He tossed his broom aside, throwing an accusatory finger at Keith, who had skidded to a halt. “What’s your _problem,_ Kogane?”

“ _My_ problem?” Keith jabbed a finger toward himself. “What’s _your_ problem? I didn’t do anything to you-”

Lance scoffed contemptuously, his eyes flashing. “Are you serious? One minute you’re all nice to me like we’re _friends_ and then you ice me out, I know you talked about me to everyone else-”

“-Because Pidge said you thought I put _mugroot_ in your draught just to _fail_ you,” Keith cried, “You’re always so _suspicious_ of me!”

“ _You_ can’t stop trying to one-up me-” Lance threw up his hands, “You’re so competitive you couldn’t even say ‘ _congrats’_ when I won the _Quidditch Cup_!”

Keith’s face flared with color. “Well maybe I could’ve if you hadn’t had your tongue halfway down Ada Patterson’s _throat_ the whole night!”

“ _Augh_ , you drive me _crazy!”_ Lance hadn’t realized how close they had inched toward each other until he was close enough to drive a finger into Keith’s chest. His blood pounded wildly in the tip of his finger. “Why do you even _care_?”

Keith’s steely eyes flashed. He cried, “Because I _like_ you, okay?”

Keith’s nails dug into his palms. Every nerve in his body was screaming. His eyes were glued to Lance’s azure gaze, trying to unearth some reaction from their depths as the sparking silence stretched on for agonizing seconds. 

The air between them crackled. Lance couldn’t breath as something deep inside him broke. All the heat in his body was suddenly focused on the point where his flushing skin met Keith’s. Keith’s eyes seemed to burn into his, framed by those dark lashes; Lance couldn’t look away from his lips, parted just slightly after delivering that thunderbolt. For the first time he realized, really, truly, fully, how he saw Keith— what all those twisting, knotting, churning feelings in his gut had been trying to tell him for so, _so_ long.

Lance lurched forward, shattering the sparking tension. His hands reached out to clutch the folds of Keith’s uniform. There was no hesitation before their lips crashed together, eyes squeezed shut and hearts pounding. Keith leaned hungrily into Lance’s kiss, his hand flying up to curl perfectly against the Lance’s jaw. Lance’s hand snaked around Keith’s waist, drawing him closer and nipping lightly at his lower lip, as if they could never be close enough. Their legs entangled and they stumbled backward, their lips never parting as Keith’s back hit against a wooden post at the edge of the pitch. Lance made an apologetic noise in the back of his throat, but Keith just sighed into him contently, the chilled wood only making Lance’s touch warmer and softer. 

Lance began to pull agonizingly away, meeting Keith’s lips again, and again, this time tenderly and sweetly. A breathy laugh escaped him as he pressed his forehead against Keith’s. “Well, fuck-”

Keith leaned back to look at him, a sheepish smile pulling at his features. “Yeah.”

Lance lowered his head for a second, reaching down to entwine his fingers with Keith’s. “I shouldn’t have hooked up with Ada like that.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to push you out of the sky for hooking up with Ada,” Keith conceded with a sly smile.

“You’ve already done that, remember?” Lance snickered, “Semi-finals?”

“I have no regrets about _that_ ,” Keith snorted.

A smile spread over Lance’s face as their eyes met, drinking in each other’s gazes. “Me neither.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sneaking out to meet up with your boyfriend past curfew is a lot riskier without an Invisibility Cloak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally in a separate post, but I'm in the process of consolidating my fics

Lance rolled over, sighing as he parted his bed curtain to blink at the moonlight that streamed in through the window. He laid back, clasping his hands over his stomach. After a few agonizing moments passed and he wasn’t _already_ asleep, Lance sat up, reaching for the blank piece of parchment that sat on his bedside table. He fumbled around for his wand and a quill, nearly knocking over his ink well in the process. After drawing the crimson velvet closed around him, Lance held his quill in one hand and his wand in the other, whispering, “ _Lumos_.”

In the light shed from the tip of his wand, he wrote at the top of the parchment: _You awake_?

He bit his lip. The paper was his latest (and only) purchase from Scribbulus’ in Diagon Alley— an enchanted pair of parchment leaves that mirrored whatever was written on the other, and eventually wiped itself clean. The kind of thing that would get you expelled on a Charms test, but was perfect for passing notes across the Castle; in Lance’s case, to the Slytherin dungeon. He just wondered if Keith had forgotten about it, or shoved it into a drawer or-

A messy scrawl appeared: **Yeah.**

_Wanna meet?_

**Where?**

_The usual?_

**See you there.**

A smile pulled across Lance’s face as he carefully put the parchment away and slid out of bed. He clumsily changed out of his pajamas in the dark and tiptoed with his shoes out into the Common Room. As the Fat Lady swung open he winced at her creaking, although more afraid of running into Shiro or Allura on patrol than waking the portrait. 

Keeping a vigilant eye out for any prowling prefects or professors, Lance snuck through a twisting path of hallways and moving staircases until he reached what had become his and Keith’s designated meeting point- a portrait of a wizard who bore striking resemblance to a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Romantic? Maybe not. But memorable? Definitely. Not to mention that most of the curfew enforcers tended to avoid it (for obvious reasons.)

“Hey-” A whisper echoed down the hall, and Keith’s dark head popped out from behind a pillar. 

Lance jogged over to meet him, clasping his outstretched hand. “I was hoping you’d be up,” he smiled, leaning forward to press his forehead to Keith’s. 

“You know I can never fall asleep,” the corner of Keith’s mouth curved up as he held his boyfriend’s close gaze.

Lance frowned, “You should eat more vegetables.”

Keith snorted, rolling his eyes. “What are you, my mom?”

“Trust me,” Lance wiggled his eyebrows with a mischievous smile, “I’m definitely _not_ your mom-”

“What does that even _mean_?” Keith stifled a laugh in the back of his hand, smacking Lance on the shoulder. They met each other’s eyes with a smile and Lance reached for Keith’s hand as they leaned into each other. 

“You really need to moisturize,” Lance breathed, his fingers caressing the back of Keith’s hand.

Keith reached up to cup the corner of Lance’s jaw, their faces just an inch away. “Don’t tell me what to do, McClain,” Keith whispered, closing the distance between their lips. 

Just then, footsteps began echoing from around the corner. Lance tore himself away from Keith’s touch. “Do you hear that?”

“Shit,” Keith hissed. He eyes searched the hallway for viable hiding place, but it was all smooth stone. Suddenly, an idea hit him. “Lance, come with me.” Keith pulled at his sleeve, shushing his sputtering questions. “Just trust me, c’mon.”

Keith stopped short in front of a tapestry, squeezing his eyes shut and pacing quickly over the floor. Lance looked on with raised brows. After the third time back and forth- the footsteps growing louder all the time- Keith turned on his heel and opened a door across from the tapestry that Lance hadn’t even noticed. 

Lance didn’t ask any questions as Keith ushered him into the smallest broom closet he’d ever seen. The door shut behind them and they were plunged into darkness as the approaching footsteps grew louder. Lance could feel the warmth of Keith’s chest against his back, his breath tickling the back of his neck. They could hear the footsteps just outside the door. For a moment they stopped altogether; Keith and Lance both thought they were done for, about to be sorting Headmaster Alfor’s mail for a month. 

To their great relief, the steps faded away down the hall. A sigh went up in the broom closet. Lance turned to Keith as best he could in the dark, “That pacing was a lot of drama for a _cupboard_.”

“It’s not just a cupboard,” Keith answered, smiling as he pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway. “You don’t know about the Room of Requirement?”

Lance folded his arms, raising a brow. “No, I’m not some Castle _troll_ like you, wandering around secret passageways and hiding in closets.”

Keith shot him a look, opening his mouth to retort but waving away the comment. Instead, he put his hands on Lance’s shoulders and instructed, “Just watch. First, close your eyes and think about something that you really want, that you _need_. Something that could be in that closet, if it could be anything.”

Still suspicious, but calming under Keith’s touch, Lance complied. “Okay, I got it.”

“Now keep thinking about it, concentrate on it, and walk back and forth three times.” Lance nodded once he had finished pacing. Keith gestured to the door, with a smile. “Open it.”

The heavy wooden door swung open to reveal a wide room, its floor covered in thick carpets and its soaring, rounded ceiling twinkling with stars like the Great Hall. Lance and Keith walked in with wide eyes and open mouths. 

“What did you think about?” Keith asked.

Lance grabbed his hand. “That we needed somewhere to spend time, where we wouldn’t get caught- and if we could see the sky it’d be a plus.” He led Keith to a pile of wide pillows in the center of the room.

Keith nestled against Lance’s chest with a contented sigh. Lance’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and their legs folded perfectly together. A warm cheek pressed against the crown of his head, and Keith looked up to run a hand along Lance’s jaw with an absent smile. Lance kissed the back of his fingers, and then his forehead, and then tilted his chin up to find his lips. Keith leaned into his kiss with a sigh. The night deepened but they were blissfully unaware, and they heard no more encroaching footsteps until it was time for them to sneak back to the dungeon and the tower.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prequel, some snippets from the beginning of the younger paladins' friendship

The bustle that descended on Platform 9 3/4 was completely overwhelming and apparently never ending. Although Keith still stood beside Shiro and his friends, gripping the handle of his cart with white knuckles, he had stopped listening to their conversation long ago. Their prattle about Quidditch faded into the din and Keith just let his eyes wander. 

A few feet from him, a boy that looked about his age was emerging from the embrace of about six family members, old and young, all wishing him good luck. An older brother, maybe, ruffled his hair. A man with the same tan skin and bright blue eyes was saying, “No matter where you get Sorted, you’ll make us proud, Lance.” Suddenly Keith was clinging harder to his cart, wishing Shiro hadn’t waved their dad off in such a hurry.

Keith looked away, turning his attention now to a chubby kid who had rolled his cart behind Shiro. He was wearing a yellow headband- a Hufflepuff? But no, his robes and tie were plain, no house colors. Probably just a coincidence. His parents were fussy, one reaching down to smooth his hair and the other shoving what looked like a sandwich wrapped in tin foil into his hands. “Don’t forget to give us a call when you’re all settled,” one of the women was saying. The other wrung her hands, catching Keith’s eye for a moment as she cut in, “And if they don’t have phones, ask one of the- uh, _wizard-y_ kids to borrow a bird, send us a letter-”

“—Are you nervous?”

Keith blinked. The question came from Matt’s little sister, Katie, bored with eavesdropping on her brother. “No,” Keith said. It was an obvious lie.

“At least you can sit with your brother on the train, that makes it better,” Katie shrugged, “That’s what my mom said. But I don’t start ‘til next year anyway.”

“Yeah-” Keith pulled a face, “But all they talk about are Quidditch try outs and exams.” He looked over to where Allura was, in fact, predicting the date of the first Transfiguration test to Matt and Shiro.

Katie laughed, “Yeah, I might sit alone after all if I were you.” Keith grinned.

Only a short while later they were packed onto the Hogwarts Express, the platform looking no emptier as families rushed to the edge to shout their final goodbyes before the train pulled out. As Keith was dragging his trunk into Shiro’s compartment, he saw the same two boys from earlier pulling themselves out of an open window. Keith swore he saw _tears_ on both their faces, but he was forced into the compartment by an oncoming trolley witch. When he looked back into the hallway they had disappeared. 

* * *

Keith pushed a piece of salmon around his plate absently. His eyes flickered to the parchment that lay half open on the table in front of him. He could see the scrawl that greeted him, _“To My Little Slytherin.”_

Keith rolled his eyes. Shiro had really gotten a kick out of that. Somehow being the first non-Gryffindor in three generations had earned him a nickname, one his dad had started using gratuitously in his letters. _Great_.

The word glared at him from the page. _Slytherin_. Keith sighed. He had been wondering lately if his first year would be going better if he were in Gryffindor, if he actually belonged at the table where he ate lunch with his older brother every day. But it was too late to change that now— maybe he should just learn to embrace the whole lone wolf thing.

“ _Hey_ -”

He looked up as a shadow fell over his plate. To his surprise, it was the two boys from the train. Lance and Hunk, now sporting red and yellow on their robes. They were in the same flying lesson period but he hadn’t spoken to them before— why, then, were they coming up to him? Keith looked around, realizing that once Shiro left he had become a Slytherin sitting alone at the end of the Gryffindor table. _Woops_. “Sorry-” He grabbed his letter, quickly tucking it into his robes. “I’ll move- I didn’t realize-”

Lance raised a brow at him. “What?”

“It’s the wrong table, I know- I was sitting with someone before-” Keith grimaced.

Now Hunk was looking at him funny, too. Lance leaned forward, hands on the tabletop. “I _know_ , that’s what I wanted to ask-” Suddenly his face lit up with an eager smile and he scrambled into the seat across from Keith without waiting for an invite. “Do you _know_ him? Are you guys friends or something?”

“What?” Keith frowned, blinking at the face across from him. “Who?”

Hunk sat down next to Lance, cutting in, “Shiro! Oh man, that guy’s so cool-”

Lance propped his chin in his hands, “Did you see him at the Quidditch finals? That catch! He’s like, my hero!” They both turned to Keith with expectant grins. “So, do you know him?”

“Shiro?” Keith snorted, “Yeah, he’s my brother.”

“Your _brother?_ ” Lance looked ready to have a conniption. “You guys don’t look that much alike— or act that much alike.”

“We’re half-brothers,” Keith rolled his eyes, “And he’s not _that_ great.” He eyed the two sitting across from him, both still looking at him eagerly. Like they were interested in what he had to say? He bit his lip. “But, I guess, I could- introduce you guys some time?”

Lance almost pushed Hunk off his chair. “Yes! That would be awesome!” He stuck out his hand, “I’m Lance, by the way. This is Hunk.” Hunk waved.

Keith took his hand, hesitantly. “Yeah, I think we have class together, actually. I’m Keith.”

“Oh, right, flying! You’re really good,” Lance said emphatically, “You should try out for Quidditch next year, we’re gonna.” He and Hunk nodded at each other.

“Thanks- you’re pretty good, too.” Keith smiled.

Just then a distant clock chimed the start of a new hour and Hunk launched out of his seat. “Crap! Lance, we’re gonna be late for Potions!” Lance didn’t seem too bothered, but in a flash Hunk was dragging him from the Great Hall by his wrists, calling behind them, “Maybe we can practice flying soon, Keith! See you around!”

Keith waved, the satisfied smile lingering on his face. Suddenly he felt a lot better about the letter crumpled in his robe pocket. He’d have to thank Shiro for making him what he- cautiously- thought could be his first friends.

* * *

“Alright, alright, settle down, kids. First, to the new school year! Let’s hope it doesn’t suck. Second, to Lance and Keith, Hogwarts’ newest Quidditch hot-shots! Lance, I trust you to uphold the untarnished legacy I worked so hard to build these past two years. Keith, I’d call you a dirty Slytherin and tell you to fall off your broom but you’re Shiro’s brother so I won’t. Hunk, you’ve got a mean swing and you’ll get ‘em next year for sure, bud. And finally, saving the best for last, to my adorable baby sister! Pidgey, you’re a dork just like Mom and you’re gonna make Ravenclaw proud. To her first year!”

“- _Holt!_ Get off that bench before I dock your house a hundred points!”

“Woops- sorry, Professor!” Matt scrambled down from his seat, taking care not to spill the contents of his goblet or bump the arm that was pinned to his side in a sling. “Well, I guess that’s it then.”

“Hear, hear!” The cry rose from the group, older and younger, as everyone but Pidge raised their glasses with a smile. 

“That was the worst toast I’ve ever heard,” Pidge grumbled, glowering over her pie. “And I told you to stop calling me _Pidgey_.”

“Aw, c’mon, I liked it,” Lance nudged her with a grin, “Especially the part where he told Keith to fall off his broom.”

Keith snorted, reaching across the table to grab a plum cake. “Oh please. The first match is Gryffindor versus Slytherin, we’ll see who falls off their broom then.”

“Well it won’t be me, weirdo,” Lance pulled a face.

“Whatever, butterfingers.”

“-Butterfingers? You’re the _butterfingers_ , you- you- _butterfingers!_ ”

“Keith!” “Lance!”

Shiro and Allura blinked at one another after their sharp voices overlapped. 

Hunk sighed, watching forlornly as Lance and Keith scowled at one another across the table. “Remember when you guys were actually nice to each other?”

A resounding chorus responded, “ _No_.”

* * *

Pidge flicked a bug off her leg. She sighed, but she was content. The Great Lake stretched out before them, glittering in the sun. The June breeze was warm but she was cool, under the shade of the tree where the group had moved at her request. Everyone else seemed content, too. Hunk was cooing over a blackcurrant tart, his latest score from the kitchen. Keith and Lance were a few feet away, for once putting their bickering on hold to toss some boomerang-type thing around.

She smiled, wondering at how quickly the year had gone. It seemed like just the other week she was sniffling into her pillow, missing her parents and her dog. A few days since she had made some friends in her House, and only yesterday that Hunk and Lance and Keith had folded her into their little group. 

 _Her boys_ , as Matt liked to call them. The phrase gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. Pidge and her boys.

Her eyes fell back to the Potions book that lay open on her lap. One line had been bothering her. “Hunk,” she said, leaning forward, “Do you think this means crush the _beetle_ and stew it, or let the mugroot stew and then add the beetle?”

Hunk squinted thoughtfully at the page for a moment before he shrugged. “I dunno- maybe the second one.” He stretched his legs out over the blanket. “Why are you reading that anyway? The school year’s almost over, we’re done with Potions homework.”

Pidge shrugged. “I want to get a head start. If I practice over the summer, Professor Iverson might let me skip a class and I could take my Potions O.W.L. early.”

“Dude-” Hunk fell back into the grass with a groan- “O.W.L.’s are so far away! You’re stressing me out.” He sat back up, looking over the book again with a hum. “Your parents let you do this kinda stuff at home?” 

“I mean, obviously we’re not allowed to cast spells or anything but, yeah,” Pidge nodded.

“I think my parents are still a little freaked out by all this magic stuff.” Hunk grinned, “My mom wouldn’t let me sweep over Christmas ‘cause she said I might turn it into a _flying broom_. And my other mom tried to use my cauldron as a planter.”

“ _Oh_ , you guys-” Lance called over their snickering, jogging back to the blanket, “I forgot to tell you, my parents are going abroad in July, so you know what that means...” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the group.

Hunk frowned. “Are all your siblings going? Your grandma?”

“Well, no-” Lance’s brows knit, “Huh, I guess that would kinda ruin all my plans.” He flopped woefully onto the grass. “Nevermind, I guess.”

Pidge piped up, “Or, an actually good idea, you guys can come visit me at my aunt and uncle’s house in London! It’s big, and me and Matt are always allowed to bring friends.”

Lance’s mood perked suddenly as he popped back up to ask, “Friends? Matt’s friends? Like maybe... _Allura?_ ” 

A collective groan went up at the mention of Lance’s latest infatuation, but Lance launched unflinchingly into some fantasy sequence involving them traipsing down Diagon Alley together, hands clasped and Allura’s beautiful mane flowing in the breeze. 

Keith, still standing, interrupted with a snort. “Yeah, like she’ll even know you’re there.”

Pidge and Hunk exchanged _here-we-go-again_ looks as Lance scrambled up to jab a finger in Keith’s face. “Oh really, Keith?” His voice shot up indignantly, “Then I guess it was someone else that she said _great job_ to at Quidditch practice!”

The tennis match of increasingly inane insults went on and on until Pidge finally snapped her book shut, crying, “ _Enough!_ You’re both uninvited! It’s me and Hunk, that’s it!”

Keith and Lance turned to blink at her in surprise. The chorus of whines immediately rose up: “But _Pidge-!_ ”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's been hanging out with someone new and Matt is not a fan  
> aka How the Golden Trio Got Together

“Goodnight, Allura-” Shiro smiled as she trotted up the girl’s dormitory steps, turning to give him a wave before disappearing. It was only their second study session, but they already felt like they had been friends for weeks; in fact, they had spent so much time talking that Shiro still had a lot of work to do. He dropped into one of the cushy armchairs that littered the common room, sighing contentedly.

_“Where’ve you been?”_

Shiro gasped, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest when hands came down on his shoulders and a voice sounded suddenly next to his ear. 

“Matt!” Shiro cried, swatting at his friend, who scrambled to perch on the arm of Shiro’s chair.

“Did I scare you?” Matt grinned. “What’s up? I thought you only had class until four on Thursdays.”

“I was just studying,” Shiro shrugged, fishing in his bag for a fresh piece of parchment. 

Matt slid off the chair, moving to an ottoman facing Shiro. “Just studying?” He raised his brow, “So mysterious, Shiro. With who?” Shiro didn’t say anything, but Matt’s eyes flickered to the girl’s dormitory staircase. His eyes widened, as if he was just realizing who Shiro had walked in with. “ _Allura?_  Alfor’s daughter? Do you even talk to her? Does _anyone_ even talk to her?” 

For some reason, Matt’s questions made Shiro evasive, defensive. “Obviously, yeah, I talk to her. We’re just in the same Potions class.”

A mischievous smile pulled at Matt’s face. He sat forward, “Wait, do you- y’know, _like_ her? 

“ _No_ , dude!” Shiro scowled, glad his face was staying a normal color. “We’re _friends._ Lay off.”

“Since when?” Matt raised a brow, but without waiting for an answer continued, “Is she really as stuck up as people say? I heard from Mitch Fitzgera-”

“-Mitch Fitzgerald is a dumbass,” Shiro interrupted, “So who cares? Do _you_ like her or something?”

That got Matt to shut up. “Whatever,” he said, grinning so Shiro would smile too. “Anyway, did you hear what happened in Professor Santos’ class-”

* * *

“-Matt!” 

Matt pushed off the tree he had been leaning against, shifting his broom into the other hand to wave at the figure that approached the Castle entrance.

Scratch that- _figures_. 

Matt frowned. As they picked their way down the sloping grounds, he could more clearly make out Shiro’s mop of black hair and the girl with the silver ponytail that swung beside him. He tried not to scowl. 

Allura smiled at him, but he turned and fell into step just ahead of them. Shiro jogged up a couple steps to come right behind Matt’s shoulder. “Sorry that took so long, you weren’t waiting too long, right?”

Matt shrugged, not looking back at his friend. “It’s fine. I just didn’t realize she was coming,” he said, his tone nonchalant. 

“Oh-” Shiro leaned forward, trying to get a better read on Matt’s expression. “I figured you wouldn’t mind-”

“-I don’t care, I just didn’t think she would be into Quidditch. ‘Cause you guys are always just _studying_ or whatever.”

Behind him, Shiro and Allura exchanged glances. There was silence, neither of them sure how to react. After a minute Allura cleared her throat, venturing, “Yeah- actually, I want to try out for Keeper, maybe.”

Shiro nudged Matt, giving him a prompting smile. “Think about next year, huh? You’re Seeker, I’m Chaser, Allura’s Keeper? We’d be unstoppable.”

Matt’s expression was frozen for a second, but he broke into a smile and pushed back against Shiro’s shoulder. “We’d snatch that Cup right from under Slytherin’s nose.”

The trio broke into chuckles as they continued on toward the training pitch.

* * *

Matt pressed his finger against the curve of his spoon, absently watching the handle bob up and down. His stomach growled, reminding him that he’d been sitting in the Great Hall for nearly fifteen minutes. He glanced over at the doorway. Nothing. 

He was beginning to consider taking a fork to his eye when a small paper crane flapped right into his face and fell onto his empty plate. It unfolded to reveal a slanted scrawl that read, “ _Not done yet. Eat without me. Sorry! -Shiro_.”

Matt rolled his eyes, shoving his hand into his bag to fish for a quill. On the back of Shiro’s note he scrawled the symbol most universally acknowledged by mankind; a dick. No further explanation required. With a smug smile Matt folded the paper into an airplane and tossed it into the air so it could zoom back to the library. 

Of course, Matt Holt never had such luck. The plane flew past the Gryffindor table and directly into the broad chest of Professor Iverson. To Matt’s horror, Iverson immediately opened the note and looked directly at him with stern eyes. Matt braced himself for what would come next. “ _Holt-!_ ”

When the Fat Lady closed behind him with a low thud, Matt found Shiro still awake, reading in an armchair. Part of Matt wanted to sneak up to the boy’s dorm unnoticed, but Shiro looked up and called to him.

“Hey, where have you been?” Shiro sat up in his chair but Matt didn’t join him.

“Oh, just, y’know, cleaning the trophy case,” Matt shrugged, “With Iverson. For two hours. The usual.”

“What?” Shiro’s brow knit, “Why?”

“Because I just _love_ dusting, Shiro,” Matt rolled his eyes, throwing up a hand. Normally he would have checked his tone, especially with his best friend, but his exhaustion got the better of him. “I got _detention_. For passing notes, because _somebody_ couldn’t just come to the Great Hall to tell me he was ditching me. Again.”

Shiro blinked, making that stupid surprised face he always got when someone accused him of something. “Detention? How is that my fault? I told you, Allura and I have a quiz-”

“You always have a quiz! Or a test, or a paper, or _something_. Like _I_ don’t know how to do homework, like I’m only good enough when you need another Quidditch buddy-” Matt’s face was getting redder by the second. He hadn’t really meant to say any of it, but once it started pouring out he couldn’t seem to stop. “We’ve barely hung out all quarter, because apparently our plans are never as good as whatever you’ve got going with _her_.”

“ _Allura_ has nothing to do with this!” Shiro glared at him with crossed arms, eyes flashing. “You’re just mad because I didn’t want to die in the Forbidden Forest with you and Ravi, because I’m not an _idiot_.”

A sharp puff of air blew from Matt’s nostrils. “You know what? Fine. I hope you and Allura have a great time kissing Alfor’s ass. Maybe if you suck up to her enough you can win back the points I lost because of your stupid note.”

The only sounds that came next were the thump of Shiro’s back hitting the chair and the slam of the boy’s dormitory door. 

* * *

They made up two days later, sitting awkwardly on the edge of Matt’s bed, but not before more hurtful words had been thrown around. It had been about a week since then, and every day they were increasingly relieved to put more time between them and those forty eight hours of sullen silence. Matt could count the number of fights they’d had on one hand, but each one was a rather painful memory.

Now he found himself again in the Great Hall, approaching the Gryffindor table. He steeled himself with a sigh and marched over to where a silver head was bent over a spell book.

He decided it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission and sat across from Allura without prompting. “Hey.”

She looked up, obviously startled. “Hi, Matt.” Her eyes flickered from him to the empty seats around them, as if waiting for him to realize he had sat in the wrong place. She cleared her throat. “Um, I don’t know where Shiro is, if that’s-”

“Oh, no, I know-” Matt tried to wince at the unbearable awkwardness. His fingertips tapped against the tabletop, his gaze meeting Allura’s tentatively. “Well, I know where he is, actually. It’s kinda funny-” A smile, like a peace offering, tugged at the corners of his lips. He sucked in a breath, leaning a little closer over the table. Allura raised a brow, but slowly closed her book and met his eyes. “-Do you know Emma Rossey?”

“The scary Slytherin with the ears? Yeah, everyone knows her.” Something like a smile played over her lips.

Matt’s expression brightened. He leaned further in, voice low and scheming. “I have on good authority that at this very moment, she is asking Shiro out on the moving staircases.”

Allura’s lip dropped. “Shiro? Like- _Shiro?_ ”

Matt nodded. “Yep. Our Shiro.”

 _Our Shiro_. Allura’s smile widened. “Wow. Emma Rossey. So she trapped him on the staircase? That sounds about right. Bet he got his foot stuck in that hole, near the-”

“-The Pegasus lady? Definitely,” Matt snorted. 

Allura got a mischievous glint in her eye as she whispered, “Y’know, I bet she planned it so she could get to him before Eva. I heard _her_ plotting about it the other night in the girl’s dormitory…”

When Shiro arrived at the Great Hall a few minutes later, beet red and agitated, he was relieved at first to see his two friends sitting together, chatting and laughing. It was only when he walked up to the table and saw the devious looks on their faces that he realized he might have created a monster. 


End file.
